There's No Place Like Home... or Home is Where the Heart is... or something like that.
Right, it's (high) time for some coherent explanations. Sorry about yesterday. So, here's the deal. And sorry again, but it's long; not like a mission report at all. I want to describe as much of it as I can, so you know what I've been through, and why things are... as they are. I know you're not used to me talking this much, but bear with me. It's my story, after all.
Incidentally, the mood icon - it's a pun - enthralled, as in 'in thrall' to someone/thing. Yeah, I'm not just a pretty face ;^)
It's no fun waking up from a cloning vat, believe me. Thought the city had sunk during the night and I was drowning. Nearly coughed my lungs out getting rid of all the goop (and *man* did that stuff taste foul). Got my bearings - despite the fuzzy vision and the headache to beat all frat party hangovers - to find I'm in a strange place, buck naked, surrounded by... well, I really don't know what to call them, even now. They're Her guards, of course. Make the Wraith look like pussycats, and *that's* scary. I don't even think they're alive, not in any proper sense. They're like... they stand around two, two and a half meters tall, dressed in these huge billowing robes so you can't get a good look at what's underneath, but believe me, you wouldn't *want* to. There's no flesh, it's just a skeleton; don't ask me what holds them all together; and they're incredibly strong and tough. From glimpses here and there, and the way they feel when you hit them (yeah, I had a go, of course I did) they're like a cross between Alien and a dead sheep. With these really long, swinging arm bones that hook you right off your feet. And glowing orange eyes burning deep in the skull sockets. And the noise they make - I think that's the worst. Kind of a buzzing, screeching sound like nails down a blackboard; get two or three going at once and it's enough to make your ears bleed; it's certainly a good deterrant to bad behaviour.
Anyway. Enough about them. We don't have much to do with them anymore, because She's got different ways of controlling us. So, here I am, trying to make a break for it even though I don't know where the hell I am or where the exits are, wrestling these Skeletor monsters and losing badly. And they herd me into another room, and I'm on my knees, chest feels like it's in a vice, throat on fire from hollering and trying to breathe air instead of the biogoop I've been drinking for who knows how long, and I already told you about the headache. Oh, and the ear-bleeding. And my eyes are watering like crazy and, irrationally, it's the thing that's bugging me most, because I don't want anyone to think I'm crying; it's just my vision trying to get back in focus, you know? And then they let go of me and step back and it's quiet all of a sudden, and I look up...
...and up...
Everyone knows what a dragon looks like, of course. They're in all the kids' stories, all the movies - loved Reign of Fire, did you see that one? Awesome action - must be like the Numero Uno, Original Monster of human imagination, I'll bet they even believed in them back in the Stone Age. And I'm looking right at one, and it's awesome, amazing, all the fancy CGI of modern cinematics just doesn't do it credit. And it's HUGE - must be all of twelve meters from nose to tail-tip - well all right, that doesn't sound THAT huge, but I tell ya, when you've got 12m of scaly, winged, horned, fanged, clawed, fire breathing (yeah, She does, I found out later :) monster staring down at you, it kind of makes an impression. And it's all gold, like the scales are made of precious metal, smooth and shiny and nothing like the hide of an alligator. And I'm thinking, oh shit, they're gonna feed me to it, I'm some kind of virgin sacrifice, and ain't that a hoot because virgin? me? and I'm wondering if it'd help if I explained their mistake, and then it lowers its head and sticks out its tongue - long, forked, red tongue just like a snake's only about as thick as my forearm at the tip - and I screw my eyes up because I think this is it, there's no escape, it'll have lightning reflexes and there are all those skeleton things guarding the exit - and it licks me. Really gently, just a feathery touch on the cheeks and the eyelids by the little forky bits where the tongue splits in two. It's like it's tasting my tears; or wiping them away.
So I open my eyes a crack, because now I'm thinking maybe it isn't gonna eat me after all. Or maybe not right away. And there's always hope where there's a chance, however small. And it's looking right back at me. Huge, shining eyes, green as the jungle. And there's intelligence in that look; you can always tell. And then I know it's intelligent, because it speaks. Actually I'm not sure if it spoke with its voice, or straight into my head somehow, like telepathy; it didn't have lips to move. But it sounds just like you'd expect; if you expect a dragon to talk; deep and rasping, a growly voice, but not harsh - more like the sound a beach makes when the surf drags over pebbles, kinda whispery. And it told me its name, but I'm never gonna try to pronounce that, or get it down in writing; Fleather... no, that's not right. Has a kind of Celtic-y ring to it, and a long hiss at the end, and I'm not sure it's the sort of name a human can pronounce. Dr Jackson gives a pretty good approximation though.
And it told me not to be afraid (not that I was, by this point; I was too curious and a bit overawed, and starting to get more than a little indignant about the way I'd been treated) and it *knew* me, it called me Major Sheppard, and it said I belonged to it now and that if I did as I was told, I'd be well treated, but that it wouldn't be wise to get any ideas into my head. And it said there was no need for me to be worried about the state of affairs back on Atlantis, because I wasn't the original Sheppard, it had got hold of some of his DNA (it didn't explain how) and cloned me from him, and he was still there carrying on as though nothing had happened; which it hadn't, of course, for him. And so by this point I was pretty pissed, you can imagine, and I got a bit mouthy, even if it was a 12m long dragon; because if you can't stand up for yourself, then what's the point of free will and all that? But it just stared down at me while I ranted, and didn't say anything, and kind of smirked. And when I wound down (my lungs and my throat were still in pretty rough shape, and I was gasping for air after a coupla minutes) it just repeated what it said before, that I belonged to it now, and was just going to have to get used to taking orders from a different kind of female. And it smirked again, when it said that. So I guessed it knew pretty much everything about all of us, and I was a bit worried it might go after Elizabeth next, so I held my tongue.
Next thing, it made this kind of whistling, hissing sound that must have been some sort of summons, because this weird little critter came scampering in from somewhere, bizarre cross between a monkey and a rabbit, with big floppy ears and huge, sad looking blinky eyes, kinda cute but creepy at the same time. And it was carrying something in its hands/paws, which turned out to be a pair of pants; only not the kind of pants I'd be seen dead wearing if I had any choice in the matter. They were like the ones you get in all the old movies about Arabian Nights and Sinbad and all that kind of thing; gauzy, practically goddamn see-through, dark blue with a sort of shimmery silver overlay effect. So I put them on, because wearing them was better than going naked. Marginally. Then the rabbity thing came dashing back again, carrying a big gold cup between both paws. It was steaming, and I really hoped it was coffee, but had nasty doubts about that. And the monkeyrabbit held it out, and the dragon told me to drink. So I asked what it was. And it smirked again (I was really coming to hate that look, but you know what, it really reminded me of the expression McKay gets when he's on his condescending high-horse, and that made me feel funny inside) and just repeated 'drink'. And naturally, I didn't do anything of the sort, I just sat back and looked obstinate. Because you know they're going to force you to take the drugs in the end, but there's no need to help yourself to your own fate, you know? And it chuckled - boulders grinding around in the surf, I could actually feel the vibration like you get from a really big bass speaker - and said I had two options: I could drink, or the guards could hold me down and pour it down my throat. And the result would be the same either way, but one way would be a lot more uncomfortable. So of course I opted for the second choice. Maybe I'm just ornery, but I figure you have to keep fighting or they've got you, and for me it's more dignified to go down resisting than just meekly accept what's coming. And it was pretty uncomfortable, but it didn't last long, it wasn't that big a cup; and the dragon didn't seem to mind that a lot of it went over my chest (and the guards) instead of down my throat - I must've got enough. That stuff really made me gasp; it was like drinking pure alcohol, or maybe jet fuel (not that I've ever tried that!) Like liquid fire in the mouth, but the burning soon turned to a numb sort of tingling, and it tasted like gunsmoke and ripe peaches and metal. It was kinda oily, thicker than water, and a deep, dark red so it was almost black. (I know what it is now; it's a distillate of Her blood; dragon's blood. All the fairy tales say you should be careful drinking that - it's potent stuff.)
Well. When I'd finished coughing and spluttering (the guards let go again once they were sure enough had gone down my throat) I could feel it already starting to work. It kinda fizzed, in my blood and I swear right down in my bones, and at the backs of my eyeballs. This warm, buzzing, electrical feeling spread slowly through me and... You know, I've never taken drugs; even at college, because I didn't want to fuck with my career. But I've had plenty of friends who took stuff, and I've heard them go on about the effects, and watched the way they acted. So, I've a pretty good idea even if no first-hand experience. This was like... it was like being high, but an energetic high, like an amphetamine rush, pretty similar to the buzz I get from flying actually, but super-strong. And the elation... whoo boy. I really don't know how to describe that. Like flying and having sex and taking out the enemy and watching a really good game - all rolled into one. I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh, yell, fight or dance on the spot. Turns out I couldn't have done any of them, because the stuff had me by the nerve endings like a puppet on strings. I could just about manage to curl up in a ball on the floor, feeling like my skin was going come apart at every touch, although it wasn't entirely a bad sensation, if you can understand. I think - no, I'm pretty damn positive - I was crying, from the overwhelming pleasure-pain of it. The Colonel tells me it's a lot like being zatted; I'll take his word for it. Wonder why they never gave us any of those things to bring with us to Atlantis...
Anyway. After a while, the spasming stopped, and I felt a bit better, but still rushing like I was pumped full of adrenaline from a whole platoon of marines; and jeez! Was I *ever* horny. Makes me blush thinking about that. Like a lightning rod was stuck between my legs. And I staggered up, and looked at the dragon, all ready to rip it a new one (I've learned a few tips from McKay; a good soldier always uses the enemy's tricks against him, and sparring with Rodney really is a kind of verbal battleground) and damn me if I just couldn't be mad at it anymore. It was just so big, and so beautiful, this thing out of a legend, and what kid doesn't love dragons and dinosaurs and big fierce animals? And it was like that, like being a kid again and realising that this was a real, live, honest-to-God *dragon* and I'd got to see it. And that made me feel kind of special. And I found myself thinking, crazily, that maybe it would let me ride it, so I could fly on dragonback, which would be so much cooler than a jet or even a puddle jumper, because you'd feel the wind in your face and it'd be so much more thrilling, knowing that the slightest tilt in the wrong direction could send you tumbling to the earth. And I just bet that dragons could go nearly as fast as a fighter plane, if they wanted to. They could do anything. And I stumbled forward, and leaned against its side, just sort of spread eagling myself against the wall of scales because it was too big to wrap my arms around, and it helped the rushing sensations a little bit, and it just let me cling there and rub my face against its hide. It was warm to touch, not cold like a reptile.
*Looks momentarily abashed*
Well, yeah. You see how it was, huh? And the thing is, She makes us take that stuff every day. And as soon as you have, it washes over you again, and you'd do anything for her - anything at all She wanted you to. And it never goes entirely away, even though I do sometimes feel a bit resentful that I'm her plaything and her prisoner and - well, not to put too fine a point on it - her slave. But, man, being slave to a dragon like that is kinda like being a king. At least when you're under the influence. And there are compensations. But I think I've gone on long enough now in this post. You've got the basics; I'm a clone of the original Sheppard, I'm the prisoner/slave/toy of a giant, intelligent dragon, and I have to take this blood-potion every day to keep me obedient. Look forward to my daily dose, now; I know I'm addicted, but well, that's the nature of addiction, isn't it? You can't help carrying on, even though you know it's bad for you. And you don't even care. And anyway, it's not like I have any choice in the matter. So next post, I'll tell you what happened next, and who I met, and the whole reason She's got us all here in the first place. Remember that bit about me getting horny, too. Might sound like TMI, but it's important; hell, it's the key to the whole damn dungeon. And now I've gotta go, I think Carson and Rodney are getting impatient...
Incidentally, the mood icon - it's a pun - enthralled, as in 'in thrall' to someone/thing. Yeah, I'm not just a pretty face ;^)
It's no fun waking up from a cloning vat, believe me. Thought the city had sunk during the night and I was drowning. Nearly coughed my lungs out getting rid of all the goop (and *man* did that stuff taste foul). Got my bearings - despite the fuzzy vision and the headache to beat all frat party hangovers - to find I'm in a strange place, buck naked, surrounded by... well, I really don't know what to call them, even now. They're Her guards, of course. Make the Wraith look like pussycats, and *that's* scary. I don't even think they're alive, not in any proper sense. They're like... they stand around two, two and a half meters tall, dressed in these huge billowing robes so you can't get a good look at what's underneath, but believe me, you wouldn't *want* to. There's no flesh, it's just a skeleton; don't ask me what holds them all together; and they're incredibly strong and tough. From glimpses here and there, and the way they feel when you hit them (yeah, I had a go, of course I did) they're like a cross between Alien and a dead sheep. With these really long, swinging arm bones that hook you right off your feet. And glowing orange eyes burning deep in the skull sockets. And the noise they make - I think that's the worst. Kind of a buzzing, screeching sound like nails down a blackboard; get two or three going at once and it's enough to make your ears bleed; it's certainly a good deterrant to bad behaviour.
Anyway. Enough about them. We don't have much to do with them anymore, because She's got different ways of controlling us. So, here I am, trying to make a break for it even though I don't know where the hell I am or where the exits are, wrestling these Skeletor monsters and losing badly. And they herd me into another room, and I'm on my knees, chest feels like it's in a vice, throat on fire from hollering and trying to breathe air instead of the biogoop I've been drinking for who knows how long, and I already told you about the headache. Oh, and the ear-bleeding. And my eyes are watering like crazy and, irrationally, it's the thing that's bugging me most, because I don't want anyone to think I'm crying; it's just my vision trying to get back in focus, you know? And then they let go of me and step back and it's quiet all of a sudden, and I look up...
...and up...
Everyone knows what a dragon looks like, of course. They're in all the kids' stories, all the movies - loved Reign of Fire, did you see that one? Awesome action - must be like the Numero Uno, Original Monster of human imagination, I'll bet they even believed in them back in the Stone Age. And I'm looking right at one, and it's awesome, amazing, all the fancy CGI of modern cinematics just doesn't do it credit. And it's HUGE - must be all of twelve meters from nose to tail-tip - well all right, that doesn't sound THAT huge, but I tell ya, when you've got 12m of scaly, winged, horned, fanged, clawed, fire breathing (yeah, She does, I found out later :) monster staring down at you, it kind of makes an impression. And it's all gold, like the scales are made of precious metal, smooth and shiny and nothing like the hide of an alligator. And I'm thinking, oh shit, they're gonna feed me to it, I'm some kind of virgin sacrifice, and ain't that a hoot because virgin? me? and I'm wondering if it'd help if I explained their mistake, and then it lowers its head and sticks out its tongue - long, forked, red tongue just like a snake's only about as thick as my forearm at the tip - and I screw my eyes up because I think this is it, there's no escape, it'll have lightning reflexes and there are all those skeleton things guarding the exit - and it licks me. Really gently, just a feathery touch on the cheeks and the eyelids by the little forky bits where the tongue splits in two. It's like it's tasting my tears; or wiping them away.
So I open my eyes a crack, because now I'm thinking maybe it isn't gonna eat me after all. Or maybe not right away. And there's always hope where there's a chance, however small. And it's looking right back at me. Huge, shining eyes, green as the jungle. And there's intelligence in that look; you can always tell. And then I know it's intelligent, because it speaks. Actually I'm not sure if it spoke with its voice, or straight into my head somehow, like telepathy; it didn't have lips to move. But it sounds just like you'd expect; if you expect a dragon to talk; deep and rasping, a growly voice, but not harsh - more like the sound a beach makes when the surf drags over pebbles, kinda whispery. And it told me its name, but I'm never gonna try to pronounce that, or get it down in writing; Fleather... no, that's not right. Has a kind of Celtic-y ring to it, and a long hiss at the end, and I'm not sure it's the sort of name a human can pronounce. Dr Jackson gives a pretty good approximation though.
And it told me not to be afraid (not that I was, by this point; I was too curious and a bit overawed, and starting to get more than a little indignant about the way I'd been treated) and it *knew* me, it called me Major Sheppard, and it said I belonged to it now and that if I did as I was told, I'd be well treated, but that it wouldn't be wise to get any ideas into my head. And it said there was no need for me to be worried about the state of affairs back on Atlantis, because I wasn't the original Sheppard, it had got hold of some of his DNA (it didn't explain how) and cloned me from him, and he was still there carrying on as though nothing had happened; which it hadn't, of course, for him. And so by this point I was pretty pissed, you can imagine, and I got a bit mouthy, even if it was a 12m long dragon; because if you can't stand up for yourself, then what's the point of free will and all that? But it just stared down at me while I ranted, and didn't say anything, and kind of smirked. And when I wound down (my lungs and my throat were still in pretty rough shape, and I was gasping for air after a coupla minutes) it just repeated what it said before, that I belonged to it now, and was just going to have to get used to taking orders from a different kind of female. And it smirked again, when it said that. So I guessed it knew pretty much everything about all of us, and I was a bit worried it might go after Elizabeth next, so I held my tongue.
Next thing, it made this kind of whistling, hissing sound that must have been some sort of summons, because this weird little critter came scampering in from somewhere, bizarre cross between a monkey and a rabbit, with big floppy ears and huge, sad looking blinky eyes, kinda cute but creepy at the same time. And it was carrying something in its hands/paws, which turned out to be a pair of pants; only not the kind of pants I'd be seen dead wearing if I had any choice in the matter. They were like the ones you get in all the old movies about Arabian Nights and Sinbad and all that kind of thing; gauzy, practically goddamn see-through, dark blue with a sort of shimmery silver overlay effect. So I put them on, because wearing them was better than going naked. Marginally. Then the rabbity thing came dashing back again, carrying a big gold cup between both paws. It was steaming, and I really hoped it was coffee, but had nasty doubts about that. And the monkeyrabbit held it out, and the dragon told me to drink. So I asked what it was. And it smirked again (I was really coming to hate that look, but you know what, it really reminded me of the expression McKay gets when he's on his condescending high-horse, and that made me feel funny inside) and just repeated 'drink'. And naturally, I didn't do anything of the sort, I just sat back and looked obstinate. Because you know they're going to force you to take the drugs in the end, but there's no need to help yourself to your own fate, you know? And it chuckled - boulders grinding around in the surf, I could actually feel the vibration like you get from a really big bass speaker - and said I had two options: I could drink, or the guards could hold me down and pour it down my throat. And the result would be the same either way, but one way would be a lot more uncomfortable. So of course I opted for the second choice. Maybe I'm just ornery, but I figure you have to keep fighting or they've got you, and for me it's more dignified to go down resisting than just meekly accept what's coming. And it was pretty uncomfortable, but it didn't last long, it wasn't that big a cup; and the dragon didn't seem to mind that a lot of it went over my chest (and the guards) instead of down my throat - I must've got enough. That stuff really made me gasp; it was like drinking pure alcohol, or maybe jet fuel (not that I've ever tried that!) Like liquid fire in the mouth, but the burning soon turned to a numb sort of tingling, and it tasted like gunsmoke and ripe peaches and metal. It was kinda oily, thicker than water, and a deep, dark red so it was almost black. (I know what it is now; it's a distillate of Her blood; dragon's blood. All the fairy tales say you should be careful drinking that - it's potent stuff.)
Well. When I'd finished coughing and spluttering (the guards let go again once they were sure enough had gone down my throat) I could feel it already starting to work. It kinda fizzed, in my blood and I swear right down in my bones, and at the backs of my eyeballs. This warm, buzzing, electrical feeling spread slowly through me and... You know, I've never taken drugs; even at college, because I didn't want to fuck with my career. But I've had plenty of friends who took stuff, and I've heard them go on about the effects, and watched the way they acted. So, I've a pretty good idea even if no first-hand experience. This was like... it was like being high, but an energetic high, like an amphetamine rush, pretty similar to the buzz I get from flying actually, but super-strong. And the elation... whoo boy. I really don't know how to describe that. Like flying and having sex and taking out the enemy and watching a really good game - all rolled into one. I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh, yell, fight or dance on the spot. Turns out I couldn't have done any of them, because the stuff had me by the nerve endings like a puppet on strings. I could just about manage to curl up in a ball on the floor, feeling like my skin was going come apart at every touch, although it wasn't entirely a bad sensation, if you can understand. I think - no, I'm pretty damn positive - I was crying, from the overwhelming pleasure-pain of it. The Colonel tells me it's a lot like being zatted; I'll take his word for it. Wonder why they never gave us any of those things to bring with us to Atlantis...
Anyway. After a while, the spasming stopped, and I felt a bit better, but still rushing like I was pumped full of adrenaline from a whole platoon of marines; and jeez! Was I *ever* horny. Makes me blush thinking about that. Like a lightning rod was stuck between my legs. And I staggered up, and looked at the dragon, all ready to rip it a new one (I've learned a few tips from McKay; a good soldier always uses the enemy's tricks against him, and sparring with Rodney really is a kind of verbal battleground) and damn me if I just couldn't be mad at it anymore. It was just so big, and so beautiful, this thing out of a legend, and what kid doesn't love dragons and dinosaurs and big fierce animals? And it was like that, like being a kid again and realising that this was a real, live, honest-to-God *dragon* and I'd got to see it. And that made me feel kind of special. And I found myself thinking, crazily, that maybe it would let me ride it, so I could fly on dragonback, which would be so much cooler than a jet or even a puddle jumper, because you'd feel the wind in your face and it'd be so much more thrilling, knowing that the slightest tilt in the wrong direction could send you tumbling to the earth. And I just bet that dragons could go nearly as fast as a fighter plane, if they wanted to. They could do anything. And I stumbled forward, and leaned against its side, just sort of spread eagling myself against the wall of scales because it was too big to wrap my arms around, and it helped the rushing sensations a little bit, and it just let me cling there and rub my face against its hide. It was warm to touch, not cold like a reptile.
*Looks momentarily abashed*
Well, yeah. You see how it was, huh? And the thing is, She makes us take that stuff every day. And as soon as you have, it washes over you again, and you'd do anything for her - anything at all She wanted you to. And it never goes entirely away, even though I do sometimes feel a bit resentful that I'm her plaything and her prisoner and - well, not to put too fine a point on it - her slave. But, man, being slave to a dragon like that is kinda like being a king. At least when you're under the influence. And there are compensations. But I think I've gone on long enough now in this post. You've got the basics; I'm a clone of the original Sheppard, I'm the prisoner/slave/toy of a giant, intelligent dragon, and I have to take this blood-potion every day to keep me obedient. Look forward to my daily dose, now; I know I'm addicted, but well, that's the nature of addiction, isn't it? You can't help carrying on, even though you know it's bad for you. And you don't even care. And anyway, it's not like I have any choice in the matter. So next post, I'll tell you what happened next, and who I met, and the whole reason She's got us all here in the first place. Remember that bit about me getting horny, too. Might sound like TMI, but it's important; hell, it's the key to the whole damn dungeon. And now I've gotta go, I think Carson and Rodney are getting impatient...